“She says she doesn’t think you want Columbia for the right reasons,” Mr. Vu says. “Perhaps she is being dramatic, as those in her line of work can be. But nonetheless . . . I’ll leave it at that to avoid further misquoting her.”

I’ve been freaking dreaming about Columbia since I was five years old. What more could I have said?

“Well, good to know legacy Marvyn Callan won’t have any competition from me, and the world can continue spinning on its axis.” I’m sure he’ll get the girl too, I almost add.

When I say nothing again for a beat too long, Vu’s innate push to fill awkward silences kicks in again, this time surpassing his professionalism.

“Marvyn’s grades are excellent, as are his extracurriculars. You may not like his disposition, but his interview column in the paper was picked up by The New Yorker last year. From a purely academic standpoint, he’s a great student.”

“Oh, he’s a shining beacon of FATE excellence, for sure.”

He frowns at that. Another thing about the FATE faculty? They are very loyal to their employer. Their retreat photos always look like an eerie summer camp where everyone sincerely loves one another.

“Do you believe we don’t assess our students fairly?”

I don’t answer. I don’t have a Smile for this answer.

“Marvyn has a tutor, two tutors, actually,” I say before I can stop myself. “He has only three classes this semester because he did that Paris Immersion program last summer, which counts for six credits.”

Price tag: eight thousand dollars for two weeks.

“I don’t know if he has a part-time job on the side, but my money would be on no. Meanwhile, I was up at five forty-five this morning to pick up dog poop, and it categorically wasn’t to write an essay about it. Oh, and his big interview that won the student paper its award last year? The one with the Lincoln Center’s creative director? Did you read it? That’s his uncle! It took place at their family cabin!”

Marvyn also buys his problem sets off previous seniors who graduated, but I don’t say that part because being a snitch right now won’t get me any closer to Columbia.

“I know I’m as smart as anyone here, Mr. Vu.” I sigh, suddenly very tired. “That’s . . . That doesn’t make it any better. Every banner in this school tells people they can be whatever they set their minds to, and it’s just . . . Well, it’s a lie, isn’t it?”

He’s looking at me with a mix of sympathy and outright pity that feels like a cup of gasoline on a lit match in my belly.